Landfall was a long thin beach, sheltered from the worst of the coastal currents by a string of tiny islands. The flying boat skipped over the light waves and drove a way up the sand.
Sheel was first out, scanning the tree line for signs of trouble. She signalled and Jayn stepped down. Gimm and Bobb came next, laden with any useful equipment they had been able to remove from the plane.
They walked up the beach, the sand giving way to pebbles and then earth. Under a tree curved by the wind off the ocean, they laid out the map and calculated their position.
“There is a fishing community amongst the islands.” Gimm did Jayn the courtesy of talking in a language she could understand. “But these red marks I believe are military camps.” He looked at Jayn, to check her response. Knowing she should not, she nodded assent.
“There is swampland behind the beach almost the entire length.” Bobb noted, “But that is a major highway and there are minor roads to the shore all along its length.” His head jerked up and he looked around. After a moment he returned to studying the map as if nothing had happened. “We have company.” he told Gimm and Sheel in their own language, then to Jayn. “There are a number of people in the trees watching us. You expect a welcoming party?”
“Not my mission. I do not know.” Jayn stood up and stared into the green darkness. She could see nothing and only heard the rustle of branches moving.
A figure moved from behind a tree. Others joined it and advanced toward the group around the map. They were all armed, though only two of them held guns. The rest brandished harpoon bows and the larger implements used to hook and kill fish. One of the rifle carriers stepped forward and studied the little group, who had now all stood. “Wrong place. Landing there.” He pointed down the beach.
“Not marked.” Gimm held up the map and indicated the beach.